Margaret McLeod was watching for them, and quickly left her seat at the window to welcome them. "Weel, Janie, lass, and did the music maester think ye could sing?" "Oh, yes, yes!" cried Janie. "I'm to study with him, and Sandy, our Sandy has promised to buy me a piano, so I shall know if I sing the right key, and I'm to sing the lang exercises wi' ne'er a song 'til,--weel I dinna when. "There's' in a' the world nae ane like our Sandy." "I've often thought the same mysel," said Margaret, with a droll smile at her husband. "And between ye, ye mean tae spoil me completely, wi' yer flattery that I own is sweet tae hear." "Ye canna be spoiled," said Margaret McLeod; "ye weel know ye're on a pinnacle sae high o'e'r ither men, there's nae chance o' spoiling ye." "Oh, the prejudice o' a lovin' woman," Sandy replied, "is past the understanding o' an ordinary mon, but 'tis sunshine tae live in the light o' it." Later, when Mrs. McLeod was making preparation for tea, little Janie followed her about, helping to set the table, at the same time telling over and over the fine things which the director had said of her singing, and yet again repeating the delightful fact that there was to be a fine piano "in that verra house." "I wondered if the mon was a bit daft," said Sandy, "when he said tae Janie, 'Mind ye sing the lessons I gie ye, an naething else.' "She's been singing the blithe Scotch ballads since she was a' most a bairnie, an' her voice has grown sweeter a' the time. I say again, I hope he's na daft." "Sandy, Sandy!" cried Margaret, "ye must na question the great music maester. I doot not he knows a deal mair aboot music than we do." "He says that he will make me sing just wonderful," said Janie. "An' na doot he will," said Sandy, laying his hand lovingly upon Janie's head. * * * * * It seemed as if the gale increased in force as it blew the dust and twigs against the window, and hurried on with a shrill whistle around the corner. After the table had been cleared, they took their places before the great fireplace, Sandy, Margaret and Janie making a group in the centre, while at one side sat the great brindle cat, Tam o' Shanter, and at a respectful distance, on the opposite side of the hearth stone, stood the Scotch Collie, Sir Walter Scott. Tam, with his forepaws snugly tucked in, and his great yellow eyes blinking at the bright flames, was a picture of contentment. Sir Walter looked eagerly at Sandy, and longed to go and sit beside him, but that would necessitate rather close proximity to Tam, and Tam usually resented such familiarity, so the dog kept his place, and as he listened to the conversation, seemed to understand what was being said. "I'll put fresh logs on the fire," said Sandy, "tae keep the cauld oot, and I'm hopin' that there's nae ane abroad this night."